The Shadow

You let me into your house:
You let me plunge my hands
Into bowls of soft flour in your house.
You let me pour milk, cradle eggs in my arms --
And plunge my hands deep into bowls of soft flour in your house.

You let me into your house:
You let me plunge my hands
Into basins of linen in your house.
You let me pour soap, cradle clothes in my arms --
And plunge my hands deep into basins of linen in your house.

You let me into your house:
You let me plunge my hands
Into bowls of clear water in your house.
You let me pour salt, and hold rags in my arms --
And plunge my hands deep into bowls of clear water in your house.

You let me into your house, yes.
You walked across the floor
Like silence, white on white, your nails
A simple pattern -- white around the knob of glass:
You opened up the door and let me in.

You let me in when I
became a shadow's perfect shadow, caught
And sealed in a case of glass -- caught
With a small white dog running silent at my feet.

© 1979, Carin Perron